Not today
by Frontline
Summary: Arya is stabbed by the Sons of the Harpie while visiting the market in Meereen and she is rescued by someone she never expected to meet...
1. Chapter 1

**All characters and concepts are the property of their respective creators. No copyright infringement is intended, or profit made, from this work of fiction.**

'No, please...argh...'

Arya looked up when she heard the scream to see figures in gold masks moving through the crowd that thronged the marketplace, cutting people down with their knives. As she watched, one of them slit the throat of a stallholder, casting her body aside as he started towards her, followed by two others. With a rasp of steel, she drew Needle, the blade flashing out as the first approached and he fell, blood blossoming from his throat. The second stepped over the body of the first man and she reversed the blade into a thrust that pierced his side and he collapsed sideways with a strangled cry. She swung towards the third man, but she was too slow and his knife buried itself in her stomach. She stumbled backwards, Needle clattering from her hand and the golden masked man leant over her. His knife drew back to strike just as a spear pierced his chest and he collapsed with a shriek of pain. As he fell, a dark-skinned man in blue-grey armour with a crested helmet, a round shield and a spear stepped over him.

'Not today...' she whispered, her hand reaching for Needle as she tried to get to her feet, another stab of pain tearing through her stomach and she slumped backwards, darkness rushing up to claim her.

#####################

Arya awoke to find herself lying in a feather bed. Pushing herself up, she winced in pain as she settled back against the pillows. Pulling up her shirt, she saw that some one had stitched up her wound.

'You're awake,' a voice said and she looked round to see a blonde-haired woman sitting a chair by the window.

'Princess Daenarys!' Arya exclaimed, trying to push back the covers, slumping backwards in pain.

'You need to rest,' Daenarys said, standing up and moving to sit on the edge of the bed. 'What is your name?'

'...Arya...'

'My Unsullied told me that you killed two Sons of the Harpie before you were stabbed. Who taught you to fight?'

'Syrio Forel. He's my...Dancing Master. Where is he...?'

'You were alone when we found you,' Daenarys said and Arya tried to rise, Daenarys putting her hands on her shoulders.

'Your wound has been stitched, but it will only heal if you stay still...'

'I can't,' Arya said. 'I need to find Syrio...'

'You are in no condition,' Daenarys said, picking up a glass bottle and removing the stopper, Arya recognising the smell of milk of the poppy. 'This will help with the pain and let you sleep...'

'No...' Arya said and Daenarys' eyes narrowed.

'You need to rest if that wound is to heal. Either you drink it or I will summon my Unsullied and they will make you drink it...'

Arya hesitated before grabbing the bottle and drinking, her eyelids feeling heavy as she slumped back against the pillows...

#####################

'How is she, my princess?' Ser Jorah asked as Daenarys left Arya's room, closing the door behind her. A tall, weathered man with blond haired and blue eyes, he wore a loose tunic and trousers, a sword at his waist.

'She is asleep,' Daenarys said as Ser Joran fell into step next to her. 'She said that she was here with a Dancing Master called Syrio Forel. Have you heard of him?'

'Yes, my princess,' Ser Jorah said. 'Syrio Forel was once the First Sword to the Sealord of Braavos. Judging by her sword and clothes, she is likely his apprentice...'

'Put out the word to our agents in the city,' Daenarys said. 'Let's see if we can locate him...'

'My princess...'

#####################

Daenarys returned to Arya's room to find the girl trying to climb out of bed, managing to take a couple of steps before collapsing to the floor with a cry of pain.

'What are you doing?' Daenarys snapped as she helped her back into bed.

'I told you. I need to find Syrio. Where's Needle...?' She demanded and Daenarys frowned.

'Needle?'

'My sword. Where is it?'

Daenarys stood up and crossed to the chest by the window, opening the lid and taking out a short rapier.

'Is this what you're looking for?' she asked and Arya's eyes widened.

'Needle! Give it to me...'

'Only those I trust may bear weapons in my presence,' Daenarys said, putting Needle back in the chest, moving to sit on the bed again. 'We are searching for your Master. Until then, you need to rest...'

 **Thanks for reading. I hope you enjoyed it. Any reviews, comments or constructive criticisms are very welcome**.


	2. Chapter 2

**All characters and concepts are the property of their respective creators. No copyright infringement is intended, or profit made, from this work of fiction.**

Arya woke with a gasp as pain stabbed across her stomach and she bit her lip until it eased. She was still lying in the bed with the covers pulled up to her shoulders and it was dark outside, a few stars shining as the last of the sunset faded. Gritting her teeth, she pushed back the covers and slipped out of bed, heading for the door.

 _Got to find Needle and get out of here..._

Gripping the door handle, she pushed open the door, stopping when she saw the dark-skinned man in armour of such a deep blue that it was almost black, with a helmet strapped to his belt and a short spear in his right hand. Her eyes widened and she tried to dodge past him, but her stomach exploded in fire and she doubled over, collapsing to the floor. Through the haze of pain, she looked up to see him handing his spear to another armoured and helmeted man and walked towards her. With a scream, she kicked out at him, but he stepped over the blow and knelt next to her. Before she could react, he put her arm over his shoulder and helped her to her feet. Biting back another scream, she hobbled towards the bed and lay down, clutching at her stomach.

'I can't stay here,' she whispered. 'I need to find my Dancing Master...'

'You are no use to him dead,' the man said.

'What do you know about it?' Arya snapped. 'Who the hell are you, anyway?'

'My name is Torgo Nudho,' he said. 'In the common tongue, it is Greyworm. I am Unsullied. And I know that there is a time to fight and a time to rest. A soldier who does not understand this does not live long...'

'I don't even know if he's alive...'

'...Unsullied are searching for him and the Sons of the Harpy,' Greyworm said, after a moment. 'If he is alive, they will find him. If there is any word, I will have it brought to you...'

'Do you promise...?'

'Yes.'

###################

'Ale,' Ser Jorah said, as he sat on one of the wooden seats next to the bar. The tavern was dark, the air filled with the smell of sweat, urine and unwashed bodies. Dressed in his tattered tunic and leather breeches, with his lined, tanned face and the scar on his chin, he looked just like another wandering swordsman, even if the truth was very different.

'Three coppers,' the swarthy barkeep said, plonking a battered wooden mug on the bar, spilling some of it. Ser Jorah hesitated before reaching into his money pouch and pulling out a silver coin, laying it on the bar.

'I'm looking for someone,' he said. 'A Bravosi swordsman...'

'Don't get Bravosi in here,' the barkeep said, his eyes watching the coin hungrily. 'Greasy-haired bastards...'

He reached for the coin, but Ser Jorah placed his hand over it and the man scowled.

'Alright. Try the Anchor down by the Harbour...'

'Thank you,' Jorah said, sliding the coin towards him and standing up. Finishing his ale, he turned towards the door. The barkeep watched him walking away, before glancing towards a rough looking man at the end of the bar who nodded and rose from his seat, following Ser Jorah outside.

###################

Jorah was walking down the alley from the tavern when he heard the scuff of a boot behind him, accompanied by the rasp of steel. Drawing his sword in one smooth movement, he turned to see a rough-looking man in grimy leather advancing towards him, a short sword in his hand. He swung towards Jorah's throat and there was a clang of steel as he blocked the blow, stepping out of range.

'My money's not worth dying for,' Jorah said, and the man lunged forward with a backhand blow that he ducked, his sword slicing across the killer's belly and he fell with a strangled scream. Jorah cleaned his sword and returned it to his sheath, walking away, leaving the man lying on the floor of the alley, his eyes staring at nothing.

###################

'My Queen,' Ser Bareston said, ascending the stone steps towards the throne where Daenarys sat. Despite the greying of his hair, he was broad-shouldered, dressed in a dark blue tunic and pale breeches, his sword at his belt.

'We have searched the Palace, Your Grace, as well as the surrounding districts. There is no sign of the Sons of the Harpie. However, I've ordered the guard on your chambers to be doubled and there will be extra sentries on duty.'

'Thank you,' Daenarys said. 'However, it is not only my safety that I am concerned with. The Sons of the Harpie cannot be permitted to attack at will...'

'Unsullised will patrol the streets, my Queen,' Greyworm said. 'The Sons of the Harpie will not hide from us...'

'Do you know why they did this...?'

'We suspect that the Masters of Yunkai and Astapor are behind this, Your Grave. That you have ended slavery in Meereen worries them...'

'Has Ser Jorah returned, yet?'

'...not yet, My Queen...'

'Thank you,' Daenarys said. 'You may go.'

 **Thanks for reading. I hope you enjoyed it. Any reviews, comments or constructive criticisms are very welcome.**


	3. Chapter 3

**All characters and concepts are the property of their respective creators. No copyright infringement is intended, or profit made, from this work of fiction.**

Arya was dressed in a night shirt that fell to her knees, leaning on the balcony, looking out at the sun setting over the city when there was a knock at the door.

'Yes?' she said, turning round as the door opened and Queen Daenarys stepped inside, followed by Greyworm.

'What are you doing?' Daenarys asked.

'...nothing,' Arya said, folding her arms across her chest. 'I was...just thinking about Syrio.'

'Ser Jorah and my Unsullied are searching for him,' Daenarys said. 'If he's still in the city, they'll find him...'

'I don't like waiting,' Arya said and Daenarys smiled.

'I thought as much,' she said, taking a seat at the table by the window and gesturing for her to join her. Arya hesitated for a moment before sitting down, Daenarys pouring her some warm milk from the jug. 'You have a northern accent,' Daenarys said. 'Where do you come from?'

'My name is Arya Stark,' she said. 'My Father is Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell...'

'And how does a girl from the north of Westeros, Daughter of the Warden of the North, find herself in Essos?' she asked and Arya stifled a yawn.

'I came here with Syrio. He's teaching me to be a Water Dancer...'

'...very well,' Daenarys said, standing up. 'Now, you need to get some rest, if you want that wound to heal...'

'...fine,' Arya said, getting into bed, Daenarys tucking her in.

'Sleep well, Arya Stark...'

#################

Ser Jorah was making his way down the dingy street towards the Anchor, when he saw a man walking towards him. Quickly, he ducked into an alley, peering around the corner as he climbed up the stairs towards the tavern. He had the dark-skin of a Bravosi with curly black hair and a rapier at his waist, dressed in a brown tunic and trousers. Ser Jorah watched him head up the stairs and into the tavern, the door closing behind him. He waited a few seconds before following him up the stairs, pausing outside the door. When he heard nothing inside the tavern, he pushed open the door, stepping into the squalid room beyond. He looked around slowly, freezing when he heard the rasp of steel behind him. Slowly, he turned to see the Bravosi man standing behind him with his rapier pointed at him.

'Are you Syrio Forel?' He asked, resisting the urge to draw his own sword.

'I am,' the Bravosi answered. 'And who are you, I am wondering?'

'My name is Ser Jorah. Queen Daenarys has sent me to find you...'

'I have nothing to say to your Queen,' Syrio said. 'The First Sword of Bravos cannot be hired like a common Sellsword. Leave now and I will allow you to live...'

'You misunderstand...' Ser Jorah began and Syrio attacked, his sword flashing out and Jorah leapt back, the blade cutting his cheek. Recovering, he drew his own sword as Syrio attacked again and he barely managed to duck the blow. However, it was a feint, a kick scything his legs from under him, sending him crashing to the floor. Before he could recover, Syrio stepped over him, his sword aimed at his throat.

'If you have any last words,' he said, 'now is the time.

'Arya Stark,' Ser Jorah said and he hesitated.

'What do you know of Arya Stark?'

'I know that she's still alive...'

'Where is she?'

'In the Great Pyramid. She was wounded by the Sons of the Harpy. The Queen's Unsullied found her and took her to the Pyramid for treatment...'

'You will take me to her,' he said, sheathing his sword. 'Now.'

#################

'My Queen,' Ser Jorah said, ascending the steps towards the throne. 'May I present Syrio Forel, the First Sword of Bravos...'

'My Queen,' Syrio said, moving up to stand next to Ser Jorah. 'I am honoured to meet the Mother of Dragons, but I am concerned about my apprentice...'

'Of course,' Daenarys said. 'Greyworm will take you to see her, now. You will attend on me after you have satisfied yourself that she is well...'

'My Queen...' Syrio said, bowing from the waist.

#################

There was a knock at the door and Arya sat up in bed as Greyworm entered, followed by...

'Syrio!' Arya exclaimed, pushing back the covers, but Syrio held up his hand.

'What happened?' Syrio asked and Arya hesitated.

'I...there was an attack on the marketplace. It was the Sons of the Harpy. I killed two of them, but the third stabbed me. I'm...sorry that I let you down...'

'Mistakes are lessons,' Syrio said, grabbing a chair and sitting down next to the bed. 'What you do with those lessons is up to you. Do you understand?'

'Yes, Syrio...' she said and he smiled.

'Good...'

 **Thanks for reading. I hope you enjoyed it. Any reviews, comments or constructive criticisms are very welcome.**


	4. Chapter 4

**All characters and concepts are the property of their respective creators. No copyright infringement is intended, or profit made, from this work of fiction.**

'My Queen,' Syrio said, ascending the stairs to the dias before the throne where Queen Daenarys sat. A young woman in a platinum-grey dress with a crown of silver, her hair neatly braided in a tight bun, she had a regal bearing that belied her youth.

'I thank you for the care that you have shown my apprentice,' he said, bowing with his hand on the hilt of his rapier and she smiled.

'You are welcome, my Lord,' she said and Syrio held up his hand.

'I am no Lord, my Queen, simply the First Sword of Braavos...'

'...very well,' Daenarys said. 'May I ask what you intend to do, now?'

'With your permission, your Grace, I will remain until my apprentice is well enough to travel and we will then take our leave...'

'Of course. Chambers will be provided for as long as you require them...'

'Thank you, your Grace...'

#################

'What did she say?' Arya asked as Syrio closed the door to her room and sat down in the chair next to her bed.

'We can stay until your wound is healed,' he said. 'Now, sit up, child...

Wincing slightly, Arya pushed herself up, raising her nightshirt to show the bandage around her midsection. Gently, Syrio unwound it, revealing the cut on her abdomen.

'It heals well,' he said, wrapping a new bandage around it and she sat back. 'You will be ready to travel in a few days. Now, how are you feeling? Have you eaten? Slept?'

'...yes,' Arya said and he gave her a small smile.

'Good. Tomorrow, we will start training. For now, you must rest...'

'Yes, Syrio...'

#################

Syrio closed the door of Arya's chambers behind him, stopping when he saw a bald, dark-skinned man in a blue-black armour, with a helmet held in one hand.

'You are Unsullied,' Syrio said and he nodded.

'I am. This one is named Torgo Nudho...'

'Are you the one who found my apprentice...?'

'I am. I saw her kill two Sons of the Harpy. She has shown courage...'

'Thank you,' Syrio said, bowing to him. 'Good night, Torgo Nudho...'

 **Thanks for reading. I hope you enjoyed it. Any reviews, comments or constructive criticisms are very welcome.**


	5. Chapter 5

**All characters and concepts are the property of their respective creators. No copyright infringement is intended, or profit made, from this work of fiction.**

The silence of the morning air was broken by the clash of steel on steel as Arya and Syrio sparred on the balcony outside their chambers. They moved like dancers, feet gliding over the floor as they flowed from block to riposte to thrust to counter. Arya struck at his heart and he blocked the blow, his own blade aiming for her throat. Arya ducked the blow and lunged towards him. However, pain blossomed in her stomach and she doubled over, Needle clattering to the floor.

'Up, up, up,' Syrio said, tapping his rapier on the floor. Gritting her teeth against the pain, Arya reclaimed Needle and came en garde. Syrio attacked and she deflected the blow, her riposte forcing him to step back to catch her blade.

'Good,' he said, sheathing his sword. 'That is enough for today...'

'I'm fine,' Arya said and Syrio shook his head.

'You are getting stronger, child, but you will still need to rest...'

'...fine.'

##################

Arya lay in bed for two hours, tossing and turning in a restless mood.

 _Dammit..._

Pushing back the covers, she swung her legs out of bed, grabbing her breeches and struggling into them. She was just buckling on her sword belt when there was a knock at the door and Queen Daenarys came in, followed by three of her soldiers.

'I see that you're recovering,' Daenarys said, sitting on the bed and gesturing for Arya to join her. Arya hesitated before sitting next to her with her hands folded in her lap.

'It can't be easy to be so far from your family,' Daenarys said. 'Do you miss them?'

'...yes,' Arya admitted. 'But, I write to them whenever I can...'

Daenarys gave her a sad smile, before gesturing to one of her soldiers, who stepped forward with his helmet held in one hand.

'This is Torgo Nudho. As long as you are our guest, he will be responsible for the guarding your chambers. I have matters to attend to, but I will come and speak to you later...'

She got up and left, the soldier moving to stand by the door with his arms behind his back.

'Are you guarding me for her or protecting her from me?' Arya asked.

'Both,' he replied and Arya shrugged.

'Well, whatever your name is, I'm going to train...'

She headed out onto the balcony and he followed her.

'I am Torgo Nudho,' he said. 'In the common tongue, it is Greyworm...'

'Whatever...' Arya said, drawing her sword and starting to run through the sequences that Syrio had taught her. As she practiced, Greyworm stood watching her, his face impassive.

'If you're just going to stand there,' she said, glancing over her shoulder, 'you can spar with me...'

'I am on duty...' Greyworm said and she shrugged.

'...alright,' she said, thrusting Needle towards his throat. Faster than she expected, Greyworm drew a knife from his belt and deflected the blow, stepping out of range. She attacked again and he dodged her blows, falling back, forcing her to advance to keep up with him. Then, he stepped back further and she overstepped, losing her balance. Before she could recover, he advanced, his knife coming to rest against her neck.

'I have warned you about the dangers of impetuousness,' Syrio said, stepping out onto the balcony and Greyworm stepped back, sheathing his knife. 'Patience is a virtue.'

'Yes, Syrio,' Arya said, sheathing Needle and turning to Greyworm. 'You remind me of my brother, Jon. He's serious, too...'

'Thank you...'

'It wasn't exactly a compliment. Do you have any brothers...?'

'I have 8000 brothers,' Greyworm said and Arya frowned.

'What?'

'I am Unsullied,' he said. 'We are trained from birth to be soldiers. We are all brothers...'

'Torgo Nudho can tell you about it,' Syrio said. 'Once you get back into bed...'

'Yes, Syrio,' Arya said, with a sigh.

##################

Syrio was walking in the Royal Gardens when he heard footsteps behind him.

'Lord Syrio,' Daenarys said and he turned to face her, inclining his head in a bow.

'Not a Lord, your Grace. I am merely the First Sword of Braavos. We have no care for rank or titles. If it please, you may call my Syrio...'

'...very well...Syrio,' Daenarys said. 'What do you think of my city?'

'I have been to Meereen many times, your Grace, before it was 'your city'. It is like the sea, great and beautiful, but it can still kill the unwary...'

'...I see...' Daenarys said, her eyes narrowing and Syrio continued.

'I am wondering why a foreign princess has come to Essos and declared herself Queen of Slaver's Bay...'

'...I am here as an emissary of my Father, King Aerys Targaryen, to rule in his name along with my brothers...'

'And, what do you think it means to rule...?'

'...I don't always know. I can only try to do what I feel is right and make the best decisions that I can...'

'That is all any of us can do, your Grace...'

'That is why I have ended slavery in Meereen.'

'That is...a bold step...'

'I wish that everyone agreed with you...'

'The Sons of the Harpy...?' Syrio asked and Daenarys nodded.

'We believe that they are being supported by the Masters of Astapor...'

'Those who gain power will always have enemies, your Grace...'

'Yes,' Daenarys said, turning to one of her Unsullied. 'Send someone to fetch...Master Syrio's apprentice...'

'Yes, my Queen,' he said, marching away as Daenarys turned back to Syrio.

'There is something I want to show you...'

##################

'Where are we going?' Arya asked, as they followed the Queen up the winding stairs of the tower.

'You'll see,' Daenarys said, with an enigmatic smile as she lead them out onto the top of the tower, Greyworm and another Unsullied taking up positions by the stairs. Below them was the panorama of the city, but Arya didn't care about the view, her eyes focused on the three shapes that were gliding above the buildings.

 _Dragons..._

Their wings beat almost lazily as they flew, their jewelled hides glistening in the light of the sun, their long necks and heads crowned with spines.

'Bloody hell,' Arya said, leaning further over the parapet for a better view as Daenarys moved to stand next to her. 'Can I ride one?'

'Perhaps,' Daenarys said. 'I can't make that decision. Only someone they trust can...'

Her voice trailed off as there was a choked cry and she spun around to see one of her Unsullied fall with his throat cut. Even as his body hit the floor, figures in golden masks poured through the door, knives and short swords in their hands.

 _Sons of the Harpy..._

'Behind me, my Queen,' Greyworm said, readying his shield and spear as they advanced, spreading out around him. Arya glanced at Syrio, who nodded almost imperceptibly. Together, they drew their swords and moved to stand with Greyworm as the Sons of the Harpy attacked. They were outnumbered, but the Harpies were unskilled, fighting without finesse or co-ordination. Arya stabbed one in the stomach, ducking under the knife that slashed at her head and slicing her attacker across his knee, opening his throat as he fell. Syrio was like a whirlwind, never being where his enemies' blades were, while his own rapier found it's target every time. She saw him deflect a savage blow to his head, disengaging his blade with a flick of the wrist to plunge it through the eyehole of the golden mask. Greyworm, meanwhile, was fighting in a crouch, his shield held in front of him as his spear stabbed out. Two Harpies fell as another rushed at him and he shifted his stance to intercept him, his spear catching his legs and dumping him to the ground. Before he could recover, the blade plunged into his heart and he gave a strangled scream. Arya deflected a backhand knife blow, thrusting Needle between the Harpy's ribs, stepping back as he fell sideways. Then, it was over as fast as it has begun. Around them, a dozen Harpy's lay dead, their blood pooling on the stones. Kneeling down, Arya cleaned Needle on one of their tunics, standing up and slipping her back into her sheath.

'Are you hurt, my Queen?' Greyworm asked and she shook her head.

'...no. No, I'm alright. Thank you...'

Greyworm nodded, stepping back as Daenarys turned to Syrio.

'Thank you for your assistance. The Sons of the Harpy are growing bolder. I never expected that they would dare attack the Great Pyramid...'

'There is no need to apologise, my Queen,' Syrio said. 'They are cowards who fight behind masks. The First Sword of Braavos does not run when there is fighting to do. With your permission, we will stay until the Sons of the Harpy have been driven from Meereen...'

'...thank you,' Daenarys said, turning to look out over the city. 'You were right, Syrio. Meereen is a dangerous place. The Sons of the Harpy will learn just how dangerous it can be...'

 **That's it for now. I hope you all enjoyed it. I want to thank everyone who favourited/followed and gave such great reviews. I have plans for a further Game of Thrones AU which this will tie into. For now, I need to let this sit and work on some other projects**


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